Sleepsong
by SecretMoustache 2
Summary: AUSherlock has been bullied for most of his life, and when his father dies, he had no-one left to turn to for help. Until the light comes to his aid. The light (or John) shows Sherlock the meaning of his life, and helps him become the man he is today.But what happens when Sherlock gets a flatmate and the light disappears? Who will sing his sleepsong at night? read on to find out...
1. Chapter 1

**Ola, this chapter was inspired by a song by Bastile 'Sleepsong' It starts when Sherlock is a young child…but it's not kidlock, sorry:/ Anyhoo I hope you guys like it!**

**No copyright infringement intended all rights to 'Sherlock' belong to the BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle, and 'Sleepsong' to Bastile :D**

**Sleepsong**

**Sherlock Aged 6 and ¾**

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Hello scamp! Mycroft." Edwin Holmes said, nodding to Mycroft,

"Father." Mycroft said mirroring his father's gesture,

"Good day?"

"Superb."

"Excellent. Well, why don't you go help your mother in the kitchen?"

"Indeed." He replied turning and walking down the corridor and on into the kitchen.

Mr Holmes turned to his other son, his eyes glittering with excitement,

"So little guy, how was school?"

"I'm not little! I'm average height for my age!" Sherlock said crossing his arms over his chest,

"Of course you are, sorry." The older man said with a laugh,

"The other kids were mean to me." Sherlock said with a small voice,

Sherlock's father crouched down to the 6 year olds height,

"And why is that my boy?" he spoke softly,

The boy hid his hands in his sleeves and started to pull at the bottom of his shirt while mumbling quietly,

"Sorry Sher, got to speak up a bit."

Sherlock continued to look down, but pulled up his shirt revealing his stomach. His father gasped as the pale skin was revealed and he saw black, blue and yellow bruises littering the small child's torso.

"They were bigger than me." He said in a small voice,

"Where was Mycroft?"

"He was eating my cake."

"Your cake?"

"My cake."

Edwin stood up, squared his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. He then took the small child's hand in his and looked down at him,

"They said I was a freak. They said I was a freak and they laughed. Mycroft laughed. He didn't help me when I called. He's a meanie too."

Mr Holmes clenched the fist not holding his son's hand then marched them into the kitchen where they found Mycroft licking the cake batter off of a bowl and Mrs Holmes doing the washing up.

"Muriel, could you look after Sherlock for me please, he got into a little scrape at lunchtime."

She nodded and lifted Sherlock onto the counter and pulled out the first aid kit and started to patch him up.

"Hello Mycroft, enjoying the cake?"

Mycroft nodded hesitantly and continued to lick the spoon clean of batter.

"I'm glad. And did you enjoy the one you had at lunch?"

Nod.

"And Sherlock's cake? Did you enjoy eating that?"

Mycroft froze, his chin nearly hitting the floor.

"And did you enjoy watching your little brother get beat up? Did you think it was funny when they called him a freak? Did you laugh when they hurt him? Did you enjoy 'sitting around' eating his cake?"

"He gave it to me."

"No I didn't!" Sherlock shouted, "You took! You always take my lunch! And laugh when your friends push me around! I hate you Mycroft! I trusted you!"

Sherlock then started to sob into his mother's shoulder,

"Boys, I don't expect this from you, especially you Mycroft. Your 10 now, you need to take responsibilities and I don't expect you to bully your brother." Muriel said, hugging Sherlock close before letting him go, "And now I have a headache, please be good for your dad, I'm going to have a lie down."

She kissed her husband on the cheek then went up the stairs and to her room.

"Mycroft, you're grounded for the next week and your food privileges are being revoked, which means no treats or puddings – especially not Sherlock's!"

"What?" he exclaimed, "I _hate_ you Sherlock! You always ruin _everything_!" and with that, he stormed out leaving his father and brother watching after him.

"I ruined everything." Sherlock whispered,

"No you didn't."

"Why do feelings have to hurt dad?"

"Because if they didn't, how would we know we felt them? It's just a matter of finding ways to get over them." Edwin said, rubbing Sherlock's arm, "You're perfect Sherlock, but you can't let people treat you like this, especially your own brother. And if I were you, I would take being called a freak as a compliment, because that is what makes you the most special and important little boy in the world. Ok?"

"Ok daddy."

"Now, would you like to do some experiments before dinner?"

"Yes please!"

**Sherlock aged 15 And One Day**

"Mr Holmes, this behaviour is unacceptable. And your father's recent death is no excuse for 'accidentally' blowing up the science lab." The head teacher droned,

"It was an experiment." Sherlock stated, leaning back in his chair, "I just miscalculated the amount of potassium picrate."

"Mr Holmes, you wouldn't behave this way at home, so why do you persist to do so here?"

"How would you know?" the lanky boy asked, leaning forward and staring at the teacher with his piercing, ice blue eyes, "My father had a science lab made for me when I was 7. He encouraged my mind and welcomed my mistakes, laughing at them. And I didn't just lose my _father_, I lost my only, my _only,_ friend. And I don't need a _teacher_ to lecture me on how I do, or do not behave. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go now."

And with that he got up from his chair across from the head, and left the room, leaving a rather startled Mr Hope still sitting in the office.

He walked out of the building and on to the P.E. block and casually strolled behind it. It was mostly deserted, apart from the year 13 boy sitting on the hard ground smoking what smelled like weed and it looked like he had been smoking it for quite a while. Sherlock ignored the rough looking boy and pulled out his Zippo lighter and cigarettes, lit one up and inhaled the chemicals deeply.

"Ruin your lungs that will." The boy said,

Sherlock looked him up and down. Around 17, 6ft 3, sleep deprived and obviously high as a cloud.

"Indeed." He replied, "But so will that."

"Yeah, but I'm already fucked. But you, if you trained a bit you would have some decent muscle on you."

"And how would that benefit me?"

"You could stop them when they hit you." He said solemnly, "Sherlock Holmes. Am I right? I knew you when you first started to get beat up. You, my friend, are a freak of the highest order, but hey, who am I to judge?"

Sherlock shrunk into himself. Not much had changed from when he was 6. People still called him a freak and beat him up daily, but whenever they did, Mycroft was nowhere to be seen so couldn't be held responsible.

"I knew a guy once." The boy started again, "About your age. Podgy little thing, but insult one of his friends and he would outsmart you with insults. And if anyone tried to start a fight with him, he would take you down with one punch to the face, then if you got up again, _if_ you got up, he'd get you into a headlock faster than you could say 'Purple unicorns'."

"Really." Sherlock said, feigning interest,

"He wanted to be a doctor. He told me that if I continued to smoke 40 a day I would be dead within the next 10 years. So I stopped."

"And switched to weed. Clever." He said, taking in another breath of foul tasting smoke,

"Exactly!" the guy said excitedly, getting up from his sitting position and staggering around a bit. He steadied himself then walked over to Sherlock and patted him on the shoulder.

Sherlock recoiled from the young man's foul breath, but tried to hide his distaste.

"John. Good name that. Jooooooohhhhn." He slurred, seeming to go off onto another subject entirely, "Also Margery. That is one kick-ass name."

Then he staggered off to his next lesson as the warning bell rang.

Sherlock stood still for a moment, then finished his cigarette, discarded the butt and wandered to his English lesson.

He arrived at the classroom just in time for the final bell to ring. He strolled in and sat down at the empty seat at the back.

"Nice of you to join us Mr Holmes." The teacher joked,

Mrs Carter was about the only teacher Sherlock could stand. She didn't annoy him with her stupidity, laughed when he corrected her, and always smiled at him.

But whenever he came in with a black eye, she would ask questions. Of course, Sherlock would never answer them, but she would keep asking, and telling him that he could always come to her.

"Pleasure gracing you with my presence, miss." He joked back,

She laughed then turned back to the board and started to write the learning objective.

The girl sitting in front of Sherlock turned around and sneered at him, "Freak."

The class giggled,

"Always, Annabelle, always." Sherlock replied, never taking his eyes off the board.

Annabelle turned back around and started to gossip with the girl sat next to her, while Sherlock pulled out his copy of Frankenstein and began to flick through its worn pages.

"Right, now that everyone's here, we'll start where we left off last lesson. Have you all got your books?"

"Why do we have to read this miss," a boy called out, "When we have the real life Frankenstein here in our class. Don't we Sherlock?"

"Yeah, he's so beastly his own father died to get away from him!"

The class laughed and jeered at the boy's joke.

Sherlock felt tears threatening to fall.

He never cried. Well, once when his father died, but only when no-one could see him.

And now they threatened to smear this perfect record.

_**Shhh, calm down, don't get worked up. Don't give them the satisfaction of letting them know they got to you.**_

Suddenly everyone was silenced by a booming voice calling for order.

"Silence! Silence!" Mrs Carter shouted,

The whole class shut up and turned to face their teacher, who had until that point, never got angry about anything.

"I think you all should be ashamed of yourselves." She said, a little calmer now, "It's not funny, nor clever to bully and belittle another member of the class – or anyone for that matter. So as well as getting homework tonight, I would like a 1000 word essay on why bullying should be stamped out, on my desk by Monday morning. For everyone except Sherlock."

The whole class was shocked into silence.

"Thanks a lot Sherlock." Annabelle said grumpily,

"No." Miss said, "It's not Sherlock's fault that you are receiving punishment, it's your own fault for being cruel and insensitive. And if I see one tiny, insignificant scratch on Sherlock's body, there will be punishments. For _everyone._ Understood?"

The class did a collective nod.

"Good. Now…."

"Mum. I'm home." Sherlock called out in a monotone voice, dropping his school bag by the almost empty umbrella rack.

"Sherlock Holmes!" he heard his mother shout, "Get in the kitchen _right _now young man!"

Sherlock sighed and trudged his way down the corridor to the large kitchen.

When he walked through the door, he was met by the sight of his brother, Mycroft, his face a mess of blood and bruises, being cleaned up by their mother.

When they noticed the other Holmes child had walked through the door, Muriel turned around and glared at her son.

"How could you? Look what you've done!" she screeched,

"Me?" he asked, pointing to himself, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief,

"Yes you!" she said, still glaring, "You got one of your teachers to stop the other kids bullying you. So now, to get to you, they have started to hurt Mycroft!"

"Well, they obviously don't know me well, if they think it'll get to me."

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"What?"

"They beat your brother up, he's lucky they didn't break any of his bones!"

"But it's alright if they break my bones? Hurt me? You never care when _I_ come home bruised and injured!"

"That's not the point!" she said, frustrated, "Why, Sherlock, Why couldn't you be a man, and face them?"

He stayed silent.

"I am so, _so_ disappointed in you Sherlock. And if you father were alive, so would he be. You're a disgrace."

Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, flashing a sly smile, but stopped.

Despite there differences, Mycroft had always admired Sherlock's resilience and bravery.

But bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity.

Because there stood his brother, who Mycroft hadn't seen cry since they were infants, crying.

He was sobbing at first, but soon they were full blown floods of salty tears.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, not knowing the etiquette for these sorts of situations,

The taller sibling just stood where he was, his brother and mother watching, not knowing what to do.

Then all of a sudden, his body dropped to the floor and Sherlock curled up into a ball on his side, still crying. His family rushed forward, trying to help, calling his name, checking his pulse and temperature.

But Sherlock couldn't respond. He was too concerned with whether his mother was right, if his father really disappointed with him.

This just brought fresh tears to his red eyes.

_**Shhhh, please! You've got to be rational about this, let's just stick to what we know, yes? When he was alive, he supported you and loved you, he helped you when you were bullied. Now, as much as we love your mother, she doesn't know what your father would do. So just take a deep breath….**_

_WHO ARE YOU?_

_**Shhhhh, breath….**_

Sherlock took a shaky breath, obeying the voice inside his head.

_**Get up, try not to show your emotions, they don't benefit you in any way. Now, walk up to your room…Slowly, that's it, just breath.**_

Again, Sherlock did what the voice commanded and ignored his family's shocked expressions, and questions, but merely walked up the stairs and safely into his attic room.

WHO. ARE. YOU?

_**I have no name, and I have no true form. I just want to help others.**_

WHY?

_**I lost my mate, and no-one came to help me. She showed me how to feel, and then when she left, it hurt. I care not for feelings….but I heard you crying one night, I came to help. I just want a friend.**_

_WH-WHAT SHOULD I CALL YOU?_

_**I have no name, you may call me what you want. Something nice though, like Hamish.**_

Sherlock thought back to the events before English, and spoke again.

_I SHALL CALLL YOU JOHN._

_**Mmmm, John, that's a good name.**_

_I THOUGHT SO TOO…._

Sherlock heard the voice chuckle, and a warm glow spread through him, like a happiness he had never truly experienced.

_YOU SAID YOU CAME TO HELP ME…HELP ME WITH WHAT?_

_**That I cannot tell you, because I don't know myself. But maybe we shall when tomorrow comes. You should get some sleep, I shall sing to you until you find me.**_

_FIND YOU?_

The voice didn't reply, but instead started to sing. The voice was slightly raspy, but sang beautifully anyway. Sherlock found himself transfixed on the voice, and got into bed without getting changed. His head hit the pillow and he fell into a deep dream.

Sherlock didn't normally dream, but this time he did. He was in a poppy field, surrounded by red and green, blue and white. He was alone, until a ball of light floated along next to him, urging him to walk.

Sherlock wondered where the singing was coming from, he wanted to meet the voice. He kept looking around, trying to find the person. But he soon realised that the ball of pale green light by his side was the source of the music, and ultimately, the source of the voice.

He turned to face the light, reached out a finger and touched the curious ball. Warmth spread across his body, and Sherlock couldn't help but giggle. The warmth made him feel happy, made him feel safe, it made him feel loved.

The song finished, and the voice began to speak again.

The light flickered as they talked about the chemical reactions, and how to get the best results for certain tests. The green got brighter and flecks of gold appeared.

Sherlock decided that the colour represented the light's mood. He studied the light more as they continued to talk. When they disagreed, the flecks of gold were replaced with red, and at one point, when they argued about whether the use of gold cyanidation should be allowed due to ethical reasons, the whole ball of light went a vibrant red. But it soon mellowed down again to green when they agreed that both sides had good points and that it was pointless arguing.

After they had exhausted Sherlock's knowledge of chemistry they continued through the fields, content in their silence. Until Sherlock noticed the light grow orange in colour before speaking.

"Don't talk to strangers, your mother warned of the dangers they may bring, and those dangers are now very real."

Sherlock was slightly confused, but let the voice continue.

"I know that when you're out, the loneliness it craws inside your soul, and you don't know how to tell your mum when she asks you how your day went; and that when you go to sleep on your own, you wake up with your thoughts." It paused, "And it _scares_ you being alone. This life, it's a last resort for you."

Sherlock looked down not responding to the light.

"All you want is someone to be your friend; it's the hole in your life that you can't fill."

"I don't want to be alone anymore." He said, his voice cracking softly, "My dreams and memories…they're blurring into one. I don't know how to continue. I'm empty, empty because he left me."

The light came and rested on Sherlock's shoulder, warming him.

"Just don't walk into danger."

"I'll try not to."

"It's time to wake up Sherlock." The voice said, separating from the boy,

"But I don't want to go, can't I stay here with you?"

"No," the voice said sadly, "No you must get up and show the world you are better than them. You are smarter, stronger, worth more. Forget your emotions and unlock your potential Sherlock. Be brave…."

The voice faded off and the light along with it. Sherlock's heart saddened, and then hit rock bottom when the field melted away and his eyes opened.

His room seemed so dull and boring. There were no bright lights, no soft scents or calming voices.

He shut his eyes again, trying to regain the vision he had lost.

Nothing came to him.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He called out to the voice in his head, but there was no answer.

But even without the light and its calming words, Sherlock felt braver than before, and got dressed and left for school before his mother and Mycroft had even got up.

He walked to school, treading a path across the fields, wishing it were full of red poppies instead of dull leaves and weeds. He closed his eyes and imagined the fields, he imagined running his hands through the poppies, and seeing the light beside him. And for the first time, in a very long while, he felt content.

All until he rounded the bend, his eyes still closed, and he heard a voice that sent shivers down his spine.

"Sherlock Holmes. Freak extraordinaire. And how are we today, Mr teacher's pet?"

Sherlock's eyes opened lazily, and the bright colours of his dream merged into the dull grey sky and boring school backdrop .

"What do you want…er…thingy?" he said, casually, pretending to forget Alex Atkinson's name and trying to show as little emotion as possible. Just like John said.

"Thingy?" Alex roared, "You forgot my _name_?" he screeched in disbelief,

"Well, I tend to, er, delete things? Yeah, delete things that aren't really, um, important." He said, trying to stay cool,

_**You're doing well; it takes time to truly conceal your feelings from others. Just breath, stand tall, and don't back down.**_

_OK_

Sherlock drew confidence from the voice's praise, he stopped slouching and stood to his full height of 5 ft 11 ½ inches and staring Alex straight in the eyes.

"You delete things? What are you? A _machine?_" he laughed, the rest of his gang joining in,

_**He's been working in a factory.**_

_HOW DO YOU KNOW?_

_**Look at his hands. They have calluses where he has been working on something. And the dirt under his nails says to me, it was a machine, in some dirty warehouse and that he must be pretending to be rich. Otherwise, why would he need to work?**_

_WHAT IF HE JUST LIKES FIXING CARS OR SOMETHING?_

_**If that were the case, the back of his hands and his fingertips would not be red raw from his attempts to clean away the oil and grease. So he can keep up the appearance of money in the family.**_

"Family running out of money Atkinson?" Sherlock blurted,

"What?" the older boy asked, his face filling with a mixture of shock and anger, "WHAT?"

"Is that why you have been working in that dirty old factory?"

"How do you know that?"

_HOW DO WE KNOW THAT AGAIN?_

Sherlock asked the voice, panicking slightly.

_**We don't know. We notice.**_

"I don't know. I notice." Sherlock said, repeating the words calmly,

"Well shit, looks like we have a genius in our midst. How about I _punch_ that out for you!" he said getting closer.

One of Alex's friends overheard his words and stepped up beside him

"Alex no; remember what Mrs Carter said? We can't touch him."

Alex sighed, then looked Sherlock straight in the face.

"I _will_ get you Holmes. And you better be ready."

Sherlock gulped and watched as the bullies walked off.

_**Well, we are going to have to work on your memory and deduction skills. And going to the gym might be a good idea too.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Now, it doesn't have to be a real place. In fact, it's probably better if it's not real, that way you can always add rooms and corridors or whatever else you want, whenever you want.**_

_SO IT COULD BE A HOUSE?_

_**Technically yes. But practically, for the information you are looking to store, it would be more appropriate to use something like a mansion or palace.**_

_OH._

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to picture a palace. All the hallways and rooms, the staircases and hallways. He stayed silent and still for a good hour, building up his mind palace, piece by piece, brick by brick, room by room.

_BUT WHAT IF IT GETS TOO FULL?_

_**Then you, how did you put it before? Delete irrelevant information.**_

_OH. _

_**Now, enough of that for one day. You need to get some dinner. I'm sure your mother left out some leftovers.**_

_WHY SHOULD I? _

_**Because you're wasting away, Sherlock. And I know you skipped dinner last night, as well as breakfast this morning.**_

_I WASN'T HUNGRY. FOOD SLOWS ME DOWN._

_**Dying slows you down. Now go eat.**_

Sherlock sighed, but didn't argue the matter. He jumped off his bed and went downstairs and into the kitchen, where, sure enough, there was a plate of food waiting for him.

Sherlock microwaved it then began to eat. While he ate he contemplated the day he met John. And by extension the reason he called the voice John.

It was the boy behind the school. What was it he had said about building up muscle and fighting off the bully's?

Sherlock shook his head and got up to put his now clean plate in the sink. There was no point fighting back, it would only anger them more.

_**Not if you beat them.**_

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN?_

_**If you showed them that you could take them, that you're stronger, the alpha if you will; then they would leave you alone.**_

_BUT WHATS THE POINT? IT'S A WASTE OF MY TIME._

The voice sighed; _**Think of it as an experiment. What is the perfect mix of food and exercise needed to build muscle in a teenage male? You could do some background research and calculations into what people think is the best way, then devise yourself a routine of different activities and keep a food diary so that you can keep track of the amount of protein in your diet. But if you are going to go out for exercise, don't talk to strangers. You have been warned about the dangers they bring, just take heed.**_

Sherlock thought about John's proposition for a while. He had been looking for something new to investigate…

_OK, I'LL DO IT. _He said with a smile.

"What are you smiling at?" Mycroft asked, coming into the kitchen,

"Oh, just thinking about starting a new experiment." Sherlock said, dropping the smile and replacing it with a blank face.

"You and those experiments, you know no girl will ever want you if you don't start acting normal." He said while opening a packet of crisps he had retrieved from the cupboard,

_**Love blinds you; there is no real need for it.**_

_BUT…_

_**No need for it.**_

"There is no need for love," Sherlock repeated half-heartedly, "It only blinds you."

Mycroft laughed, spitting bit of crisp onto his brother, "You obviously haven't seen Tracy McMullan, she's amazing." Mycroft sighed, staring off into space,

"I have seen her, and I'm sure she's seen you. You're a bit hard to miss." Sherlock scoffed,

"What are you implying Sherlock?" the older brother growled,

"Only that sometimes, it's good to preserve food for later. Or maybe let someone else have some for a change."

Mycroft's bottom jaw dropped and he gaped at his brother's rudeness.

"Night brother." Sherlock said coldly, turning and leaving the room.

"N-N-Night."

**Sherlock Aged 15 and 2 months**

With every step his heart pounded in his rib cage. Every breath caused his lungs to burn and every time his feet hit the hard concrete underneath him he was reminded of how long he had been running.

_**Stop**_

_I CAN KEEP GOING._

_**Yes, yes you can. But you could also do more damage than help if you keep this up. **_

Sherlock sighed and stopped running.

_**You have done well, but your body needs to become accustomed to the amount of exercise you are doing.**_

_OK_

Sherlock bend over, his hands on his knees, trying to control both his racing heartbeat and ragged breathing.

_**Go home and get something to eat and drink. Preferably water and fruit, but it's up to you.**_

_ALRIGHT_

Sherlock felt John leave so he started on the long trek back to his house.

Over the last few months he had become used to following orders from John and often the advice he gave had helped Sherlock; and he found himself happier.

Not happy.

But happier.

The light had helped Sherlock in ways he didn't even know he needed help in. John helped him gain new skills by filling his dreams with lessons in how to read body language. Or how to see people's clothes and belongings and what they could say about the person.

John had been pleased with Sherlock's progress and said it had far exceeded what he first thought and that within a few years he could become one of, if now _the _smartest person in the world.

Sherlock smiled at that thought.

He like the idea of people liking and respecting him for his brain.

He imagined the look on his brother's face if he did become the smartest person in the world.

He chuckled and started to jog, keeping his head down and his breath even.

"Goof!"

Sherlock realised that because he hadn't been paying attention he had run into something solid.

Slowly he backed away and looked up.

"S-Sorry." He stuttered, not wanting to engage the man in front of him in chat because of the voice's warning,

"Don't worry, no harm done eh?" the man said smiling down kindly at Sherlock and speaking with a distinct Scottish accent,

Sherlock looked the man up and down, assessing what he was wearing.

A black fleece, a cap, some worn out jeans and a pair of tan work boots. The man's face was ruddy and his eyes sharp and piercing. His hair was ginger and had a matching beard that covered half of his lower face.

Sherlock tried to remember his dream lessons and started to read the man. But it was no use. Both his mind and body was frozen with fear.

The man took a step towards Sherlock.

Sherlock found his feet and tried to push past the 6ft man but the oaf grabbed his arm and stopped him from running.

"What's the matter? I only want to chat." The man said in a sickly sweet voice, "I'm Allen, and you're Sherlock Holmes. Am I right?"

"What do you want with me?" Sherlock spat, trying to wriggle free,

"Tsk tsk, I was a friend of your father's, and I only wanted to meet the son he talked so much about."

"Y-You knew my father?" Sherlock stuttered, stopping,

The man nodded and Sherlock's breath hitched.

"Now, enough chat, it's time for bed." The man said, pulling Sherlock into a headlock, brushing away the boys attempts at escape,

"What?" Sherlock squeaked, "No! Let go of me! Let me go!"

Digging into his pocket Allen pulled out a cloth that Sherlock guessed was soaked in chlorophyll. Shoving the rag onto Sherlock's nose and mouth he smelt the vile odour and held his breath.

JOHN! Sherlock called out with his mind. JOHN!

He couldn't hold his breath and had to breathe in, the scent burning his nostrils. He soon felt his body shutting down and the forced sleep taking over.

JOHN HELP ME! WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME! YOU PROMISED! JOHN…! He shouted frantically, but soon the blackness took his vision and his body along with it.

And not even John's words could wake the sleeping teen.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. But instead of waking up to reality, he woke up in his poppy field.

The sun was high in the sky, just as it always was. His mind palace sat just beyond the horizon, peeking out and showing off its tall towers, just as it always did. He looked around him and found he was lying in the exact spot that he met the voice every night in his sleep.

But unlike in his normal dreams, the light wasn't singing his sleep song, nor was it floating beside him.

Unsure of what to do next, Sherlock got up and started on the long walk to his mind palace. He walked this route with John every night and Sherlock knew it like the back of his hand.

As he walked he let his hands trail through the soft petals of the red flowers surrounding him. As he did this every memory, every conversation, every joke and secret he and John shared came flooding back to him.

All the deep conversations about their dreams and aspirations that they shared while walking through the large field. All the advice the light gave, and the memory of the feeling the light gave Sherlock when he laughed.

The voice used one of the downstairs rooms as a classroom, and in there every night, he tried to teach and show Sherlock everything he knew.

Sherlock smiled at the memories and allowed them to fill his body with warmth and comfort.

It was nothing compared to the warmth John provided by being next to Sherlock. He doubted anything could compare to that. But none the less it made him feel at home.

Soon he found himself walking up the path towards the large wooden doors of his mind palace. Not bothering to knock (seeing as it was _his_ palace) he entered the building.

He looked around the large hallway/corridor he hopped to see the John floating somewhere, but he was met with disappointment as he soon found the hallway to be empty.

He sighed and walked along the corridor and on to the room they used as a classroom.

He pushed open the door and a smile spread across his face as he saw the light hovering in the middle of the room.

But it soon vanished as he saw the light was glowing a vibrant red.

**I warned you not to talk to strangers. Why didn't you listen?**

_I'M SORRY, I…_

**I can't help you now, it's too late.**

_I TRIED TO GET FREE, BUT I COULDN'T. WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S TOO LATE?_

Silence.

_WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO HELP ME? _Sherlock tried again_, PLEASE, I'M SORRY-_

**No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I can't help you this time.**

The light started to fade away and Sherlock stood, rooted, his mind swirling with confusion.

_WHAT?_

**Be strong Sherlock, I'll be back for you…Stay strong…Please, for me….**

And then the voice was gone and Sherlock was alone in the room.

Sherlock started to panic, running to where John had been, feeling around him, trying to find his friend.

But suddenly Sherlock felt cold. No, he felt freezing.

He looked down and saw that his clothes were dripping wet and his hair was no longer in soft curls but soaked through and dead strait.

Again confusion rushed through his mind and the walls of his palace began to melt away.

_NO!_ He screamed,

He rushed to one of the walls and tried to keep it together, but it was in vain.

_PLEASE! JOHN HELP ME! I NEED YOU!_

"No one is coming to save you now. So wake up and shut up."

Sherlock's eyes flew open for a second time.

But instead of being greeted with his beautiful dreamscape, his eyes met with those of his capture.

"John…."

**Hi guys! Sorry this took so long to publish, been a bit lazy 0.0 and sorry it's so short too, but I hope you liked it anyway! :) **

**S.M.2**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's body ached and his mind was tired. He had spent a week in a cold, filthy warehouse, held captive in a cage that was barely a cubic metre in size. The experience had been excruciating. He tried to adjust his position in the small metal cage, but his gangly limbs were still bent up against his torso. He sighed in frustration.

His new life as a captive was dictated by his Scottish captors. And their strict routine of hard labour and cage time had worn down Sherlock's reserves and though the hard work had made his muscles stronger, it had made his mind weak.

Everyday he would be awoken by freezing cold water being poured on his head; then he would be given a small glass of filthy water and a slice of mouldy bread (both of which he refused) then he would be sent out to the back of the warehouse to dig up the land out there. If they were satisfied with his work, they would be put back into the cage and offer him the bread and water once more. Despite his misgivings, Sherlock would be so tired he had no choice but to accept the offerings, not leaving a crumb or drop of water.

Unfortunately though, that is where Sherlock's captors generosity ended. Once thrown into the barred metal cage he would be left there until morning, or until one of his kidnappers came to taunt him. It had only taken a matter of hours at the start of his ordeal for Sherlock to work out that the man who took him had a wife and 16 year old son, both of whom were in on his crimes.

The wrinkled wife liked to spit at him when passing his cage, but he just ignored it. The boy however, was a different matter. He would come and tease his prisoner for hours on end, reminding him that they were better than Sherlock, that his money and family couldn't help him now. At first the captive teenager thought nothing of the taunts, but his strength of will was deteriorating and he thought of his John, and how every night he went to his mind palace just to find his 'classroom' empty.

On the whole, he found the whole thing tedious and boring, and during the long hours he spent alone he vowed never to get a boring job with the same continuous routine. He wanted adventure and mystery, something complex.

But then, Sherlock didn't know if he would ever escape this reached place, let alone get a job.

Sighing again Sherlock tried to settle in for the night. The warehouse was silent, but he didn't mind all that much, in fact, he welcomed the silence with open arms and drifted off into a deep sleep that took him to his other land.

When he arrived in his dreamworld, he did what he always did. He walked through the field of poppies and up to his mind palace. And even though the voice had never come back before now, Sherlock still made his way to the classroom to wait in silence until the cold water brought him back to the land of the living.

So you can imagine his surprise when, instead of being greeted by an empty mahogany panelled room, he found a rather large leather bound book lying on his table.

Sherlock approached the book and picked it up with caution, turning it over in his hands examining it carefully. The pages looked new from the outside, but the corners were tatty; saying that the owner had had it a long time.

Carefully he opened it and looked inside. The front page bore the title written in ink pen and spidery writing;

_The Art Of Lock Picking._

_From one friend to another._

Sherlock's mind puzzled over the title as he turned the next page, but as he did square of lined paper fluttered out of the book and landed by the teens feet. Bending down to pick it up, Sherlock read the message written on it in the same spidery writing as the title;

_My dearest Sherlock,_

_Life, as you know, is a series of tests. We all go through them and find our way without the help that could be the difference between us becoming a genius or a freak. You have had a rare opportunity my boy, you are special._

_Most of us are denied the help we need most, but I could not deny you. When I heard you crying that night I simply had to come help you see the path you must follow._

_When I began to teach you, it was like holding a revision session before your final exams. I helped you as much as I could, and I have still more to teach you. But like in school, we must take the exams we need to make us grow as a person. Im afraid that this ordeal is your test._

_But, just like teachers do, I tend to leave books lying around, books that might help a certain student with his test; and if that book should happen to fall into the hands of said student, then that would be sheer dumb luck. Wouldn't it?_

_Best Of Luck,_

_Your John._

Sherlock smirked at the message, then turned back to the book and began to read.

**4 days later**

"Boy. Get up. We have a lot of work to do today." A deep Scottish accent boomed, bringing Sherlock back from his mind palace with a bucket of cold water.

"Don't you mean _I_ have a lot of work to do." Sherlock muttered, crawling out of his now soaked cage.

"Don't get smart with me laddie, or I might just forget to feed you your food later." He growled,

"Oh, is _that _what you call that filth?" Sherlock said, brushing himself down and wringing the water out of his soaked and dirty clothes.

"Now listen to me _boy,_" the man said, grabbing Sherlock by the ear, making him wince, "_I_ run this place, so _you_ do what _I_ say. Now get to work!"

He pushed Sherlock out of the warehouse and into the early morning sun.

Sherlock stumbled over to the shovels and picked one up at random, then he began to dig.

Sherlock's mind wandered and he pondered on how long they would keep him captive in this hell hole. And how long John would leave him books for, seeing as he had finished the last four.

He would be left one every night, each one teaching him a new skill that would help him to escape, then he could run away and-

"Stop slacking and get back to work!" the oaf called over to Sherlock,

"Yes sir!" Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Get in there boy!"

Sherlock was thrown into the cage roughly and was spat at before being left alone in the dark and damp warehouse.

Sherlock was eager to find out what the next book was, so he forced himself to sleep immediately.

He ran through the field as soon as he arrived, racing past the weeds and long grass and into his mind palace, through the corridors and into his classroom.

Waiting for him on hid desk was a single sheet of paper.

Odd, he thought, where is the book?

Slowly walking up the paper he gingerly picked it up and read it.

_It's time. Run, and don't look back._

Sherlock smiled, and set the paper down.

He woke up, still in the dingy warehouse, but with renewed hope. He set to work on the lock. Using a bit of metal he found lying by his cage he managed to unlock the cage and crawl out.

He then made sure the coast was clear before running across the container to the far door. He fling it open and was set to make his escape.

Or so he thought.

On the other side of the door was his Scottish 'friend'.

"Now then, what's a boy like you doing out here? Don't you know your place lad?" he said, raising his voice as he spoke,

Sherlock turned on his heels and ran across to the other side of the warehouse, Allen hot on his heels, getting closer with every passing second. He slammed into the door, then took a step back trying to open the damn thing. But it would budge.

He turned and ducked, narrowly missing the Scotsman's right hook.

He bolted back to the centre of the room and to the other side of the cage, facing his captor.

Allen caught up and they started to play a game of cat and mouse around the cage that had been Sherlock's home for the last 12 days. Sherlock dodged and dived, each time narrowly escaping being caught, until he slipped on some water that was still on the floor after his morning wake up call.

Landing on his coccyx he groaned, but he wasn't there for long, soon the burly man picked him up off the ground by the back of his filthy t-shirt and shook him a bit.

"Now then boy…"

"His place?" a voice interrupted, "And where, in your _expert_ opinion, would that be?"

"_Thanks for coming to see me, how are you today?"_

"_I'm good sir, thank you."_

"_That's good, that's good."_

"_Why am I here sir?"_

"_Do you have any friends?"_

"_Yes, loads."_

"_Any best friends?"_

"_No, not yet sir."_

"_Why?"_

"_They don't understand me, well they do, but they don't…if you get what I mean."_

"_Yes, I do. But not to worry, he will come. He will come for you."_

_Pause._

"_Well, once he has found himself he will come and save you."_

"_Save me?"_

"_In the smallest ways, he shall save you and in turn you shall provide what is lost and save him too."_

"_Sir?"_

"_Mmmm? Oh, you can go now boy."_

"_Ok...?"_

"_Just….be patient, wait. Save some people, be a bit reckless, practice kindness at all times and then save him. Good luck."_

"_Um, thank you sir….I think."_

**DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! :D**

**Sorry it took so long to post, I've had a very busy and stressful week :/**

**Hope you liked it, all reviews/comments welcome and I hope to post soon!**

**S.M.2**


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